Collapse
by The Consulting Psychic
Summary: America is at it's end. Therefore, so is one Alfred F. Jones.
1. Chapter 1

"Are you alright, Al? You look live you've had a hell of a week."

Alfred looked up at the bartender, Dale, and shook his head slowly. He took another sip of whiskey before he spoke.

"Yeah. Hard week. Broke up with my boyfriend Monday. Everything went downhill from there." Alfred was glad that he was the only customer at this hour, for his eyes were filling with tears.

Dale muted the news that was, again, reporting the imminent collapse of the nation. The stock market had failed two days ago, and several bombings had already taken place. He finished wiping the counter, put up the 'closed' sign, and sat beside Alfred.

"Why'd you break up with Arthur?" Dale asked.

Alfred drained his glass and looked again at the TV screen. It was now showing massive riots on Wallstreet, on the Capital Building in Washington DC, and at the White House itself. Red letters flashed across the screen about the president being shot and killed earlier this morning. Of course, Alfred had known as soon as it had happened. People from the Middle East were already moving in, shooting civilians, trying to take over the military. Matthew had called already asking why he had so many people coming across the boarder all of a sudden. America was ending, taken.

"I'm dying."

Dale was silent, also staring at the screen. Now it showed scenes from shootings all across the nation.

He and Alfred had been friends for Dale's whole life. He was the only human that Alfred had ever told about his true self: He was the United States of America. He bled when the country bled, cried when the country cried... and now that his nation was collapsing, dying out, so was he.

"It's coming, then," Dale said quietly. "The end."

"Yes. Soon... maybe as soon as Sunday. I can feel it."

"Two days..." Dale exhaled slowly. "You should tell Arthur. He would help you... you can fight back!"

Alfred sighed. Even now he could feel himself getting weaker.

"I don't want to start a war that I can't finish. I'm not letting anybody die for me..." Alfred glanced at his watch. "I need to go," he said, standing. He winced as scars throbbed as though they were fresh wounds. Scars from Pearl Harbor, 9/11, the burning of New York in the Revolution, and so much more. "I... I'll see you tomorrow, Dale."

"Can I drive you home?"

"No... I walked." Alfred knew he probably wouldn't even make it home. It was over. He watched on the screen as foreigners flooded into the White House, guns ablaze. Everything was over. "Dale... tell the wife I said hey, yeah?"

"Alright. Bye, Al."

"See you."

Alfred sighed as the night air hit his face, and he let the door swing shut behind him. It was peaceful in the south right now, but he knew that the guns and killings would eventually extend here. He gulped in the crisp air, feeling himself calm enough to reach into his pocket for his cell phone and dial Arthur's number.

Arthur picked up on the second ring.

"Alfred, wh-"

"Arthur, listen to me," Alfred said, gritting his teeth against the pain closing in around him. "I love you. I want you to know that, you have to understand that. I never stopped loving you. Ever."

"Alfred, what the bloody-"

"No! Just... listen! Can you do that for me, just listen!" Alfred felt his heartbeat become more painful, the way humans described heart attacks. "I love you, okay? Do you understand?"

"Yes, of course. I love you, too, Al-"

Alfred felt out of breath, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest.

"I'm going to go n-now. I love you," he said, voice coming out strangled.

"I'm coming over. Now." Alfred could hear Arthur stand.

"Ok-kay, Arthur. I love you... so m-much."

"I love you, too... I'll see you in a little while."

"Yeah... okay..." Alfred lowered the phone from his ear when he heard the click of Arthur hanging up.

Alfred just barely made it to his house, the moon was directly over head. With a sigh, he felt his legs give out under him, and the grass rushed up to meet him.

He felt it when his heart stopped. It was like a small explosion, as though his heart were caught on fire. Alfred exhaled his final breath and closed his eyes against the moonlight, hands curled to his chest to keep out the cold that would eventually take the last bit of warmth from his unmoving body.

_Alfred F. Jones: The United States of America- July 4, 1776 to November 6, 2029._


	2. Wake Up

When Arthur arrive at Alfred's house, he first noticed that the house was dark; second, he noticed that the car was in the yard. Arthur smiled and shook his head, taking out his keys to let himself in.

"Alfred?" he called, flipping on the living room light. Alfred's keys were laying on the table, but there was no reply. He glanced into the kitchen and the game room before heading upstairs to Alfred's who-floor bedroom. "Well, where the hell is he?" he asked to the empty room.

Arthur reached into his pocket for his phone right as it started ringing, making him jump. It was Alfred.

"Alfred, I'm at your house," he answered the phone with. "Where are y-"

_"Uh, sir... are you Arthur Kirkland?"_ The voice was American, but it was deep and authoritative, definitely not Alfred. Arthur felt his stomach drop.

"Yes, I am... where's Alfred?"

_"Sir, Alfred Jones was found, dead, in an alley an hour and ten minutes ago. His body was moved to the morgue and is w-"_

Arthur blocked out the rest of the man's words and hung up. The man's voice still echoed in his ears. His mind went reeling, and he moved towards the door in a dreamlike state. He only remembered feeling this numb once in his life, when he found out that Alfred had been shot down during World War II.

Arthur never could recall the walk to the local morgue. It all went in slow motion up to the moment when he walked into the back room of the small, grey building to see Alfred laying as still as stone on a gurney.

Arthur couldn't accept it. He just knew that Alfred would jump up at any moment, laughing his annoying laugh. In fact, Arthur could hear his voice now saying _'I got you good, Arthur! Heroes don't die!'_

But Alfred didn't move, even though Arthur called his name, letting the American know that he was here.

"Okay, Alfred, stop it. Wake up," Arthur said. His voice echoed around the otherwise empty room. He felt warm tears spill down his cheeks. "Wake up, now..." Arthur seized Alfred's cold shoulders and shook him. He would force Alfred to wake, to laugh, to apologize. "Wake UP, YOU BASTARD! Wake up _RIGHT NOW!_" Arthur's voice was a frantic scream.

"Mr. Kirkland!" It was the voice of the officer that had called form Alfred's phone.

Arthur wrenched away from the officer when the American tried to pull him away.

"How _dare_ you leave me now, Alfred F. Jones?!" Arthur screamed at Alfred's unmoving body. "I loved you, dammit! I WAITED for you! Please, _wake up!_"

"Mr. Kirkland, please... he c-can't hear you."

"Shut UP! He can hear me, he knows _exactly_ what I'm saying!" Arthur couldn't breathe, and black dots priced at his vision. "Oh, God, Alfred... please wake up..." Arthur sunk to the floor, shivering with the sudden cold that Alfred's departure left him with. He was whispering the same chant. "Alfred... please, please wake up..."

The officer ducked his head and left Arthur in the room to have his space.

'You couldn't protect me from everything.'

Arthur looked up at Alfred's still unmoving body, hearing his voice fill the air around him.

"I tried... I tried... I'm so sorry, Alfred..."


End file.
